In a voice as low and dangerous as the thunder that had reverberated over the village, he whispered, "There are many questions I still have, but I discovered you were not the only English captive brought to Acoomemeck."
"Who else?"
He put his finger to her lips, and she pulled back, frightened that his touch sent the delicious flame swirling through her as it had when he stepped from the smoke near the chepi's fire. "Hush, Hannah Netop. Heed what I say. There are many things we must speak of without other ears hearing."
"Who else has been brought here?" she whispered.
"An English child with hair as pale as corn silk. A girl of no more than six or seven summers. I have heard she cried out your name when you were taken from her side and brought into this weeto."
"Did she have two upper teeth missing in front?"
"Yes."
"Oh, dear heavens!" She closed her eyes and pressed her hand over her mouth to silence her cry of despair. As she sagged back on the pelts, she wished she could go to sleep and wake to find this had all been a nightmare.
"You know this child?"
"Yes." Tears filled her eyes. "You have described Brenda Hubbard who sometimes helps me with chores. Her family has the cabin closest to my tavern, and her mother allowed her to work at the tavern when it was not open. Her mother did not want anyone to know Brenda was there, but as a widow, she appreciated the little I could pay Brenda. Maugin, take me to her. She will be so frightened! She does not know any words in your language."
"I cannot take you to her."
She faced him again. "Do not think you will have to carry me. I can walk. Please! You must take me to her or bring her here. You cannot imagine how frightened she must be."
"I cannot take you to her."
"You must! I have to help Brenda. I..."
His fingers tipped her face toward him. She stared at his silhouette as half-formed memories teased her. I have to find Brenda! The desperate voice that rang through her head was her own. When had she spoken those words? The answer came with the force of a fist in her stomach.
The tavern burning, the Wampanoag attacking, death and devastation consuming the English settlement.
Brenda had come to warn her of the attack, but too late. Then he had shoved the child out of the tavern and set the rum on fire--Who was he?
"Hannah Netop?"
She looked again at Maugin as his hand cupped her cheek. Wishing the sleeping herbs would release her so her eyes could focus, she murmured, "Yes?"
"Why did Ousamequin bring you here?"
She started at the question, pulling the hair he had wrapped around his fingers. "I thought that was what you were going to find out."
"Ousamequin is not in Acoomemeck. No one knows where he has gone, not even those within his weeto. I cannot believe he has left to fight, for he prefers to boast about dangerous deeds rather than do them." He ran a finger down her tangled hair and along the modest neckline of her ripped dress as he murmured, "Tell me what you can, wife."
She pushed his hand away from the curve of her breast. "Do not call me that."
"It is what all shall call you while you remain here." He tilted her face toward him again. "Hannah Netop, tell me what happened. I know it was not your choice to come here."
"No, for before I woke, I did not even know the name of this village."
"Then why were you and the child brought here?"
"I do not know." She put her trembling hand to her forehead. "I remember the tavern burning and trying to find Brenda. Nothing else."
He drew her hand away from her face and stroked her palm. "So you have no idea why you are here?"
"None." She faltered before asking, "Do you?"
Even through the darkness, she could see him tense. Why had her question disturbed him?
"What is it?" she asked when he did not answer.
"The Creator did not reveal the answer to that. Not even to the clan's powwaw when he sought Kiehtan's counsel today."
"Today?" She clamped her lips shut before she could foolishly spout the tale of the vision that had come to her during the storm. The vision he had been in. There were tales of those who could walk through dreams, but she had never met anyone who could honestly claim such an experience. If she told Maugin what she had seen, would he laugh at her or simply call her mad?
His arm slipped around her. "I need your help, Hannah Netop, for you alone know the truth."
"I am sorry. I remember little about the attack. I recall the fire at the tavern, but nothing else until I awoke here."
"Nothing?"
She struggled to remember. Not only were the sleeping herbs choking her brain, but she could see nothing save his profile in the darkness. It was so near, so beguilingly near. Her gaze could trace his arrogant nose and the enigmatic lines of his mouth, which could go from frown to smile between a single, swift heartbeat. And his finger ... It toyed with the thick lace at the top of her chemise, lingering over the small bow in the valley between her breasts. With every breath, her skin pressed up against his finger, until she could think of nothing but its hard breadth.
She dared not move. His firm chest would be less flexible than the mats on the wall behind her, but neither way offered escape. His hand rose to rove along her jaw, eliciting sensations she should not feel with a man she barely knew. So easily she could have melted beneath the heat of his touch as she let him mold her into the life of another woman.
No! She would not take the life she did not want. Since her earliest memory, she had done as she and Papa had thought was right. When he had agreed that they might be adopted into the clan of Mishquashin, many of the English settlers in Kickemuit had despised her; others had distrusted her. Only a few, like the Hubbards, had accepted her beyond the walls of the tavern, knowing she would never betray any friend, either English or Wampanoag.
"Tell me anything you do remember," Maugin ordered softly. His breath grazed her face in a gentle invitation to pleasure.
She shook aside the thought that could betray her. If only his broad chest was not bare and his fingers were not teasing her cheek as they traced an aimless pattern ... Then she might be able to find the words to answer him.
"I remember seeing moccasins and buckskin leggings." She paused, seeking in her muddled memory for the truth.
"Did they belong to Ousamequin?"
"I don't know. The smoke was so thick. I couldn't see anyone's face, and, even if I had, I do not know what he looks like. You must ask Brenda. She will know."
His hand smoothed her hair back. "She is not here."
"Where is she?" she cried.
"Hush. Do not wake Quiapen," he murmured. "I don't know where your friend is. My clan tells me Ousamequin had two captives with him when he arrived here, but only you remain in Acoomemeck. He has gone. When he returns, I shall ask my brother what--"
"Your brother? Ousamequin is your brother?"
"Yes."
She heard regret in his voice, but ignored it as she realized she had misunderstood Quiapen. The old woman had called Ousamequin Seaki's brother, but he was Seaki's brother-in-law, an English distinction rather than a Wampanoag one. She had no time for asking any questions, save for the ones about why she was in this village. "Your brother brought us here? Why?" She tried to sit, but Maugin's hands caught her, holding her to the bed.
"That is what I had hoped you might know."
"I do not know why we were brought here." She frowned, then winced as pain scored her forehead. "The man's moccasins and leggings appeared in front of me just as the shooting started." She paused. "That is very odd."
"Yes, it is. He must have skulked to your tavern while the other warriors took aim on the village up the road."
"It is as if he came looking for me, but why?"
The amusement in Maugin's voice startled her. "You are well known beyond your English village. Few have not heard the tale of the Englishwoman who claims a clan tie with the clan of Mishquashin. Ousamequin told me how your brother Ashpelon tried to use your name to gain privilege."
"He did? Why would my name bring him honor?"
"You will have to ask him, if he still lives."
She shivered. If just one of her adopted family in the Wampanoag village was hurt, the price of this war was too high. It must be stopped before ... "Maugin," she choked out, staring up at his shadowed face, "could Brenda be dead?"
"I don't know."
Scalding tears ran along her cheeks. She could not hold them back. When a fingertip wiped her cheek, she opened her eyes to see Maugin's face only inches away.
"Ousamequin must have some plan for her," he said softly, "that does not include death. Otherwise, he would not have brought her here."
"Brenda knows nothing of Wampanoag ways," she whispered, her words ragged with misery.
"When Ousamequin returns, I will have many questions for him."
"Will he answer them with the truth?"
His laugh was low. "You claim not to know my brother, but you seem to know him well. Cunning will be necessary to wrench the truth from him." He framed her face with his broad hands again. "That is why I must ask you this."
"Ask me what?"
"Stay and be my wife."
)
